The Lycan King's Puppet-Chapter 36: Dinner

Chapter 36: Dinner
She felt the strange flutter ripple in her abdomen.
What was he doing to her?
His lips barely touched hers yet she didn’t want it to stop. If anything, she wanted to feel the full pressure of his mouth on hers, the warmth, the taste...
What was wrong with her?
He is the enemy, she reminded herself.
Then, he bit her lower lip teasingly. The intimacy of the gesture made her weak in the knees.
She had heard stories about the pleasures women often enjoyed... Was that what his teasing touches offered?
A moan escaped her before she could stifle it.
And he pulled away.
"How do you feel now?"
Her eyes pinned his, telling him more than her words could.
"Like a wanton woman."
Yeren’s jaws tightened slightly but he said nothing.
He had control and she didn’t - it was clear she was losing.
"I need more wine."
She pulled her hair behind her ears and looked down at the goblet, suddenly afraid of spilling it on him again.
Claire handed him the glass, averting her gaze.
To her surprise, he took it from her and drank it himself. She watched the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed.
And she remained there, standing so foolishly close.
"More." He returned the goblet to her.
Spying the jug beside him, she moved towards it. Until the sound of ripping fabric stopped her.
The side of her dress had caught on the edge of the table.
Driven by feminine instinct and a need for self-preservation, she covered her exposed skin with her hands, folding over to shield herself.
He had turned at the sound, but averted his gaze at the sight of the damage.
"My apologies."
She coughed. "I should be the one to apologize - the dress was lent to me. I hope to repay you someday."
His eyes flitted to hers.
"It was a gift."
Her eyes hardened.
"The last time I was offered a dress, it was an invitation to my room at night. What’s your bargain price?"
"Must you pay for things with your blood and sweat before she acknowledged them as yours?"
She licked her lips absentmindedly - the same lips he had played with.
"I should go." She murmured, turning to leave.
"Take my cloak."
Claire stared down at the fur garment she had often seen him wearing.
"You must like this cloak." She commented.
He ran his hand over the fur.
"It’s black. What’s not to like?"
She chuckled. Her laughter slowly died down when she noticed how intensely he was staring at her.
"Laughter suits you. You deserve to be happy."
Claire finally stepped away as if poured a bucket of ice.
"You don’t get to decide that."
Without another word, she left the room.
She felt his eyes burn into her back as she left, but he didn’t try to stop her - and for that she was grateful.
Her feet carried her to Aurora’s room.
Rory sat at the vanity table, idly brushing her long hair.
"What did the King want with you?"
Claire turned her back to her sister, pretending to arrange the bed covers in order to conceal the dark blush she knew stained her cheeks.
"He wanted to announce me as his Cupbearer... and inquire about your health."
Her sister smiled faintly.
"Did you accept the role?"
Remembering the way she had been cornered, logically and...physically, Claire let out a strangled cough.
"I had to - he didn’t give me much of a choice."
She spun around, catching Rory’s eyes in the mirror.
"Your lips are swollen, Claire. Were you hit by something?" The little girl asked, concern apparent in her tone.
"No... I."
"Did the King notice it?"
Claire narrowed her eyes on her sister.
Rory’s sharp intake of breath drew her attention.
"What happened to your dress?"
"It caught on something." At least she was telling the truth this once.
"Sorry about that." Then, waving the brush up, Aurora asked, "Would you like me to brush your hair?"
Deciding to humor her, Claire sat down in the chair the girl quickly evacuated.
"Tell me what you’re thinking right now."
Claire sighed as the brush smoothed over an itch in her scalp.
"Me? I’m not thinking about anything."
Aurora folded her arms, ceasing the heavenly work she had been doing on Claire’s head.
"Is it about Zach?"
Their eyes met through the glass.
"No."
"No?"
"Stop. You don’t share your thoughts with me, so don’t expect me to."
The brushing resumed.
"I did."
"When I was sleeping - that doesn’t count, I have to be fully conscious."
"It’s... hard."
"But it’s easy to tell the priest." Her tone was sharp, stinging.
Rory’s lips thinned.
"You won’t see me the same way if I tell you..."
Claire turned around on the chair. "Nothing would ever make me stop loving you, Aurora. Especially not something completely beyond your control."
Aurora gulped.
"They chained me in the same cell as an untame wolf... it was always dark and it never stopped growling. I tried showing it kindness, but it attacked me. It could turn into a man sometimes."
She reached for Rory’s little hand and squeezed it.
"Thank you for telling me. Do you feel better now?"
Aurora wrapped her hands around her neck and hugged her.
Tears burned behind her eyes.
There was more to the story but she decided not to probe further. One morsel at a time, she told herself.
"Oh." Unwrapping her choking arms, Aurora dashed to the bed and retrieved a neatly folded letter.
"From who? You’re not supposed to be accepting letters-"
"I know what you’re going to say... just read it first, Claire."
The letter had already been unsealed.
The scrawl was unfamiliar, but the voice wasn’t.
"You’re corresponding with Arlan?"
Rory coloured. "I’m not. He just sent this. He will be attending the picnic here at the palace on the morrow. He just wanted to know if he would be able to see-"
"There’s a picnic? How come I haven’t heard about it and you have?"
Rory gave her an impish grin.
"The maids were murmuring about it. There will be all sorts of games - to celebrate the end of the harvest, and the coming blood moon."
Claire ran a hand through her hair.
A public outing? Already? And as the King’s Cupbearer, her place was beside him, all through the day.
"Is something wrong?"
She shook her head. "No. I just realized that my place will be beside the King, not yours." The guilt in her voice felt fabricated.
A light shrug greeted her words. "At least Arlan will be there."
She was already being brushed aside - it stung. She turned to leave.
"Claire?"
"Yes?"
"We are expected at dinner. Come in time to do my hair - the maids don’t do it the way you do it."
Breaking into a bright smile, Claire messed up her sister’s hair.
"And yet you’d always say I want to rip your hair off your scalp."
Both of them giggled.
The humor and giddiness was slowly returning to Aurora.
The hall outside was empty. Quiet, even.
Guards were stationed at the end of the hall, blocking the only entrance and exit.
Because he asked them to.
As soon as she entered her own room, she leaned against the door.
His Cupbearer?
Curse the gods, she’d barely survive.
If he had wanted her just then, he would have taken her - and she wouldn’t have stopped him. That was the painful part.
Yet he took everything away from her.
Claire pounded her fists into the wall beside her so hard that it bled.
She was failing herself, her family... her heart, her wolf that didn’t exist.
When he touched her...
She could still even feel it.
"He’s manipulating me. Esteemed position, my foot!" She stumped her feet.
Glancing down at her tattered dress, she remembered the way his gaze had clung ever so briefly to the sight of her bare skin.
And she began to rip the dress off, telling herself that it was out of disgust.
Hearing the sound of ripping fabric didn’t give her the release she wanted.
Then, a jug of wine on the table caught her eye.
He loved wine. What was so good about it apart from its ceremonial function?
Curious to see what he saw, she poured herself a goblet and downed it.
Standing only in her undergown, she finished the whole jug.
When she looked out the window, evening was fast approaching. The dinner hovered just at the edge of her mind but she dreaded seeing him again.
The kiss - even the wine couldn’t erase it. Claire had to forget somehow - he was her downfall.
Her gaze had become blurry, her mind foggy.
The sun had retreated behind the curtain of the clouds, giving rise to a soothing evening breeze.
She swayed, pretending to dance, goblet in hand.
A knock on the door called her to partial order.
She picked up her discarded gown and stuffed it into a chest. Donning a robe as quickly as she could, she rushed to open the door.
Rory stood there, brush in hand.
"Dinner will begin in a few minutes, Claire. I was waiting for you."
Her sister hated crowds - which was why she could not fathom her source of enthusiasm for attending the dinner.
A burp escaped as she tried to speak.
It didn’t take long before her sister pieced everything together - the fallen jug, the goblet at the window sill, her dazed expression.
"You were drinking? When you know we’re supposed to have dinner with the King?"
"Would it be just the King?" Her face was already beginning to heat up.
"The King and his first man."
Her mouth rounded into a perfect circle.
No wonder Aurora was calm about it.
Yet it felt like a personal invitation to just her.
"Tell them I fell ill all of a sudden."
"No lies, Claire. We should pay them the respect of..."
"Are you ladies ready?"
Claire froze.